Page 3 of Twin Babies for the Pucking Billionaires

We walk inside, the bell above the door jingling. The place is cozy, with old-school booths and a glass counter displaying all the ice cream flavors. The smell of waffle cones fills the air. The owner, an older woman named Marge, beams when she sees me.

“Finn! Back again?” Marge calls out, her eyes twinkling.

“Yeah, Marge,” I say, grinning. “Brought a friend this time.”

Marge’s eyebrows shoot up. “First time for everything, huh? What can I get you two?”

“So, what’s your favorite flavor?” I ask as we approach the counter.

“Mint chocolate chip,” she says without hesitation.

“Good choice,” I say, nodding. “I’m more of a cookies and cream guy myself.”

We order our ice cream and find a booth near the window. The rain is still falling lightly outside, creating a soft patter against the glass.

“So, tell me more about this influencer thing,” I say, taking a bite of my ice cream.

“Well,” she begins, “I want to create content that helps people. Show the real side of things, you know? Not just the highlights.”

“That’s cool,” I say, genuinely impressed. “Why mental health, though?”

She looks down at her ice cream, then back up at me. “Someone close to me struggled with some issues for a long time. It took a long time for her to even get diagnosed. I have watched her struggle. They still do, sometimes. I want to help others who are going through the same thing.”

I nod, feeling a new level of respect for her. “That’s really admirable.”

“Thanks,” she says, blushing slightly. “What about you? What made you move to Chicago?”

“Hockey,” I say with a shrug. “Got drafted, didn’t know anyone here. It was a big change.”

“Must’ve been tough,” she says sympathetically.

“It was, at first,” I admit. “But now I love it here.”

As she licks her ice cream, I can’t help but notice how turned on I am watching her. She catches me staring and gives me a shy smile.

“You come here often?” she asks.

“Yeah, but I’ve never brought anyone here,” I admit, feeling a bit exposed.

“Really?” she asks, looking surprised. “Why not?”

“Guess it’s always been my little secret,” I say, shrugging.

I can’t remember the last time I felt this attracted to someone I just met.

“Can I take a photo of you? It could be the first post on your journey.”

She smiles. “Okay.” Then she reaches for her phone before cursing softly.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“My phone’s dead, and Jade will kill me,” she says.

“Who’s Jade?”

“My best friend. I was supposed to text her as soon as I got home.”

I smile. “You can call her with my phone.”

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